


Dark Rebellion

by FallingThroughTheFloor



Series: Dark Rebellion [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: A few spoilers for Star Wars: Rebels, Dark Comedy, Dark Obi-Wan Kenobi, Early Rebel Alliance, Falling to the Dark Side Through Sheer Apathy, Feeling Kind of Bad for Darth Vader Because He Did Not Sign Up for This Level of Bitchiness, Fluff and Angst, Just a Whole Lot of Murder, M/M, Mentions of Killing Children, Murder Husbands, Post-Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith, References to Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008), Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) Spoilers, Tragedy/Comedy, Using the Sith Code as a Pickup Line
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-28
Updated: 2019-06-28
Packaged: 2020-05-28 05:08:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19387138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FallingThroughTheFloor/pseuds/FallingThroughTheFloor
Summary: Obi-Wan's lightsaber remained clipped to his belt, and it wasn’t until he was standing right next to Maul that Ahsoka realized that neither of them were about to fight.He pushed back his hood, revealing a familiar face, though slightly weathered from five years in the Tatooine desert, with a few gray strands in his hair, and his facial hair more stubble than beard… but Ahsoka barely noticed those changes as she stared into the eyes of the man who had once been her Master’s Master.Eyes that were now a bloodshot gold.“Hello there, Ahsoka,” he said with a smile that was far too cold, a smile that caused Ahsoka’s blood to freeze in her veins as she sensed the Dark Side wrapping itself around him like a heavy cloak. “It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?”----------------------------------------------[Five years post-RotS: Dark Side Obi-Wan and Maul run out of Inquisitors to kill and decide to join the Rebellion. No one handles that discovery well.]





	1. Chapter 1

Her identity was meant to be a secret; a Jedi, even a partially-trained one, would be at the top of the Empire’s list of targets (and even higher on one particular Imperial commander’s list), but in this case her former affiliation with the Jedi Order was the reason why Bail Organa was reaching out to her. 

If anyone had an explanation for what Bail had seen, it would be Ahsoka Tano.

“This is Fulcrum.” Her voice was heavily distorted and far lower in pitch, but a familiar cadence had crept in anyway.

“Fulcrum, this is the _Tantive,”_ he said. “I have a matter that I need to bring to your attention: there was an attack on the Imperial garrison on Malastare twelve hours ago.”

Fulcrum was silent for a moment before replying. “This was not a mission that I was aware of.”

“We don’t know who ordered it,” Bail said. “One of our agents was nearby, but they only witnessed the aftermath: thirty-eight dead stormtroopers, seven dead officers, twelve dead civilian employees… and one dead Inquisitor.”

“An Inquisitor.” Fulcrum sounded just as disturbed as Bail himself was. “That must have taken a lot of firepower. They aren’t easy to defeat.”

“Which leads me to the other thing that you need to know: most of the dead were not killed by blaster bolts. The wounds were cauterized incisions.”

“A lightsaber.”

“Can you think of anything else?” Bail asked. His voice was grim.

“Not really,” Fulcrum said. “Which means that the blaster bolt wounds were likely deflected shots.”

“Do you know of anyone who might have been involved?”

“I only know of two surviving Jedi, _Tantive,_ and neither of them would have done what this attacker—or multiple attackers, most likely—did.”

“Other Inquisitors, then,” Bail suggested. “They have been known to turn on one another.”

“Perhaps,” Fulcrum agreed, but still sounded troubled. “It’s the death of the rest of the garrison that concerns me. As heinous as they are, even Inquisitors don't tend to leave this high of a body count of other Imperials.”

“We will keep looking on our end,” Bail promised.

“As will I. Fulcrum out.”

As Bail stared at the now-blank comm display, he thought back to the holos that the agent on Malastare had sent him.

Many of the victims had been beheaded.

If not an Inquisitor, then who? Who could have done such a thing?

* * *

“There was another one,” Ahsoka told Bail on their next call a few weeks later. “A garrison on Taris. All dead, including one Inquisitor, the same way as on Malastare: lightsaber slashes and deflected blaster bolts, plus several broken necks.”

“And no witnesses?”

“None,” Ahsoka confirmed. “No security footage either… but we did find something: a note.”

She could see Bail frown. “What did it say?”

She shifted uneasily at the memory. “It said _‘you’re welcome.’”_

“Why would they expect thanks from the Empire for something like that?”

Ahsoka felt even more uneasy. “I don’t think it was meant for the Empire,” she said. “I think it was meant for us.”

“A defection?” Bail asked incredulously.

“I’m not sure. Something about it feels…” She struggled to name the strange ripple in the Force that she felt when she looked at the note. “It feels like something else.”

The handwriting looked familiar. Even if she couldn’t quite recognize the source, it had the unmistakable style of penmanship that was the standard among the Jedi. Every youngling had learned how to write in Aurebesh that way.

Inquisitor or not, whoever was behind these attacks had definitely grown up in the Jedi Temple.

* * *

More attacks. More dead Inquisitors, surrounded by even more dead Imperials—primarily troops and officers, but civilians as well. 

More notes. 

Usually it was just another _‘you’re welcome,’_ but was occasionally other things:

_‘happy to help’_

_‘some gratitude would, of course, be appreciated’_

_‘sorry for destroying the communications grid this time—there was likely some useful data inside, but it couldn’t be avoided’_

_‘the next one is probably going to leave a bit of a mess’_

That last one had been followed by a gruesome attack on an Imperial academy that turned out to be a training facility for Inquisitors. A few survivors remained from that one—all children, who refused to divulge any information, saying only that they had hidden until the screaming had stopped.

Not all of the children survived, however. There were more than a few among the dead: killed not by a lightsaber but what appeared to be a burst blood vessel in the brain—apparently their killer’s perverse attempt at a painless death.

The notes soon began to contain clues about their next targets. The Rebellion never managed to send a team there in time, but they were getting closer and closer.

Finally, in the burned-out remains of an Imperial facility on Christophsis: _‘let’s meet. we could in spire one another, look for ward to better days. come ready to play’_

“The spaces are a crude attempt at a code,” one of Fulcrum’s agents told Bail and the others with a sigh. “Four days from now, at some place with a spire.”

“There is only one spire that would matter to someone hunting Inquisitors,” Fulcrum said, her voice distorted as usual while her projected symbol rotated in the air over the comm unit. “The prison on Stygeon Prime, more commonly known as The Spire. It it was used by the Separatists during the Clone Wars and is now rumored to have a squad of Inquisitors stationed there.”

“They’re going to attack an Imperial prison? This seems ambitious even for them,” Bail said.

“Which is why they asked for our help,” Fulcrum said. "The question now is: do we provide it?"

“There are likely valuable prisoners there,” Mon Mothma pointed out, “some of whom could be sympathetic to the Rebellion.”

“And who these attackers are unlikely to leave alive unless we are there to stop them,” Fulcrum said; the audio distortion wasn’t entirely able to mask the weariness in her voice.

“I suppose we don’t have much of a choice,” Bail said. 

“I will consult with Commander Sato,” Mon Mothma said. “Whatever awaits us, this mission is going to be a dangerous one.”

“How do we know that they aren’t luring us into a trap?” Fulcrum’s agent protested. “Just because they’re killing Imps doesn’t mean they’re on our side.”

“I agree that they shouldn’t be trusted,” Fulcrum replied, “but I also don’t think that it is a trap. The notes, the childish codes, the outrageous attacks… whoever they are, they certainly love an audience. In fact…” She paused for a moment; Bail had a suspicion that she was getting some kind of nudge from the Force. “I will be sending someone to help, someone who should be able to handle any rogue Inquisitors.”

“Are you sure that they _are_ Inquisitors?” Bail asked, realizing that Ahsoka meant to come along on this mission personally. “I recall that you were skeptical about that at one point.”

“Whoever they are, we’re going to want someone with a lightsaber on our side too,” Fulcrum said. Her voice was grim and Bail wondered what her current theory was about their mysterious almost-allies.

He suspected that it was much worse than mere Inquisitors.

* * *

The main point of uncertainty was the exact timing of the attack. Commander Sato’s forces remained a short hyperspace jump away while Ahsoka and her task force slipped down to the surface of Stygeon Prime and made their way towards the massive tower of a prison. Once they made contact with their… associates, her team would signal the rest of the fleet for aid.

The timing turned out to be less of a problem than they thought: even in the distance, the prison was obviously under attack. Sirens wailed, one landing platform was almost invisible behind a thick cloud of smoke, and, one of her scouts reported, someone had been thrown out of what may have been a window.

Perhaps they didn’t need the Rebellion’s help as much as everyone had assumed. 

Which meant that Ahsoka’s next priority was retrieving the prisoners inside. There was minimal resistance when her team entered the base of the Spire—a few prison guards, but most of their forces were apparently busy dealing with the other intruders, who seemed to be far closer to the top of the tower. 

She unclipped the pair of lightsabers from her belt and headed up as quickly as she could. The rest of her team would focus on retrieving the prisoners.

Most Jedi described the sensation of the Dark Side as cold; Ahsoka had felt that as well, but also experienced it through many other senses: a slight tremor at the tips of her montrals, a murmur of hungry voices, the half-visible shadows that writhed around people and places like snakes.

But above all, the smell: oily and sickly-sweet, like something rotten and decayed. The stench of death.

It was everywhere here, both through the Force and through more mundane means; she had to step over countless bodies on her way to the top of the Spire. The air had a burned odor to it: the result of a lightsaber blade turning a person’s flesh and blood into charred meat.

She spotted the corpse of more than one Inquisitor… usually in pieces.

This was more massacre than assault, she thought with a chill. Whoever was behind this, they had carved their way through a prison once thought to be impregnable. 

Someone that cruel and that powerful… well, she did have a theory. She just hoped that it wasn’t true. 

As Ahsoka grew closer to the upper levels of the tower, she sensed something unexpected: a glimmer of Light, flickering in the Force like a candle in a whirlwind. Her already rapid approach increased to a run. 

It was a Jedi, imprisoned here in the Spire. It couldn’t be anything else. Her heart began to pound, more from hope than from physical exertion. 

Five years had passed since Order 66, and Ahsoka had assumed that any remaining Jedi were now hidden so deeply that they might as well not exist. The only exceptions that she was aware of were waiting on two different remote planets, laying low until they were called upon to train the next generation of Jedi.

By the time she reached the empty corridor she was looking for, she realized that she recognized that presence in the Force: Luminara Unduli. 

A Jedi Master, one who had been so wise and so kind to Ahsoka when she was a Padawan. And even now, after all these years, she still clung to the Light. 

Ahsoka located the door and cut it open with one of her sabers. Now inside, she turned to look at the source of that radiance— 

And found a sarcophagus. 

It was Master Luminara, but she was dead. Her connection to the Force must have been so strong that, even in death, she shone like a beacon… one that the Empire had used in order to lure other Jedi to their doom.

Ahsoka tightened her grip on her saber and tried to fight back the wave of despair that had washed over her. She was too late.

That oily smell returned, even stronger than before, and getting closer. She stepped back out into the corridor. 

Her theory had been correct: the taunting notes, the viciousness of the attacks, the pattern of striking out against whoever made the most tempting target… who else could it be but Maul?

The red and black Zabrak, unlit lightsaber in hand, made his way towards her at a pace so slow that it was almost casual. 

“Did you do this?” Ahsoka demanded, indicating Luminara’s cell as she backed away. “Did you kill her?”

The former Sith briefly glanced inside, and turned back to face Ahsoka. “Of course not,” he said, sounding almost irritated. “She has obviously been dead for years; I arrived only…” He took a moment to think. “Only two hours ago.” He took another look at the inside the cell. “A pity. She might have been interesting.” Turning his attention back to Ahsoka, he grinned. “We meet again, Lady Tano.”

Ahsoka ignited her sabers before she even realized what she was doing. “Are you here for a rematch?” she said, trying to sound as disdainful as she could. “I defeated you before; I would be happy to do so again.”

“Now, now,” he chided her, “is that any way to treat someone who has been so helpful in destroying so many Imperials for you? Someone who kept so many Inquisitors off of your trail?”

She glared. “I doubt you did any of that to be helpful. You just enjoy killing.”

“And isn’t it better that I have decided to put that talent to good use?” he asked. “Surely killing your enemies would be preferable to killing your allies.”

“You have no idea what the word ‘ally’ even means,” she said.

“Of course I do,” he said. “After all, isn’t that how I… _acquired_ Mandalore? By partnering with those Death Watch misfits?”

“For all the good it did you,” Ahsoka spat. “We ran you off and left you with nothing.” She raised her sabers into a guard position. “Care to relive that experience?”

Maul snorted derisively. “I will have to decline that offer,” he said. “Fighting you wasn’t half as interesting as fighting Kenobi.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere, you know,” came a voice from further down the hall. 

His face was hidden under the hood of his cloak, but Ahsoka would have known that voice anywhere.

Maul rolled his eyes and turned to face the newcomer. “I should have known you would follow me here.”

“Of course I followed you,” Obi-Wan said, still genial in the way that Ahsoka had always found both charming and a little irritating at the same time. “I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist the opportunity for a dramatic reveal.”

Maul gave him a short laugh. “You’re one to talk. What do you call this?”

Ahsoka turned off her sabers and frowned in growing confusion. What was Obi-Wan doing here? Had he really left Tatooine just to pursue Maul?

Something in the back of her mind was starting to notice that something was wrong… the humming in her montrals, the whispers, that horribly sweet odor of death… it was growing stronger and stronger with every step that Obi-Wan took towards them. 

“I call it ‘fair play,’ I suppose,” Obi-Wan said. His lightsaber remained clipped to his belt, and it wasn’t until he was standing right next to Maul that Ahsoka realized that neither of them were about to fight. 

Obi-Wan pushed back his hood, revealing a familiar face, though slightly weathered from five years in the Tatooine desert, with a few gray strands in his hair, and his facial hair more stubble than beard… but Ahsoka barely noticed those changes as she stared into the eyes of the man who had once been her Master’s Master.

Eyes that were now a bloodshot gold. 

“Hello there, Ahsoka,” he said with a smile that was far too cold, a smile that caused Ahsoka’s blood to freeze in her veins as she sensed the Dark Side wrapping itself around him like a heavy cloak. “It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?”

“What happened to you?” She could barely get the words out; she was still frozen, trying to remember to breathe as the feeling of horror squeezed all the air from her lungs. “What did he do to you?”

“Did you take care of the ones upstairs?” Maul asked him, ignoring Ahsoka. 

“Of course I did,” Obi-Wan said, annoyed. “Unlike _some_ people I could name, I actually have the ability to focus on a task for more than a few minutes at a time.”

“I’m beginning to regret even _trying_ to flatter you just now,” Maul hissed. 

That cold smile returned. “It isn’t flattery if it’s true.”

“You’re working together,” Ahsoka said, still trying to understand what was happening while desperately hoping that she was wrong. “All of these attacks, all of these deaths… it was the two of you, together?”

“You’re welcome,” Maul said, sounding slightly smug.

“Even the attack on the academy? All those children, that was _you?”_

Maul turned to Obi-Wan. “See? I told you that they would be upset about that.”

“I was trying to be _merciful,”_ Obi-Wan protested. He gave Maul a glare. _“You_ wanted to cut their heads off.”

“They thought of themselves as Inquisitors,” Maul pointed out. “They should have been prepared to die like ones.”

“As you’ve been claiming for what feels like the hundredth time. Repetition doesn’t make it true.”

“Neither does sentimentality,” Maul shot back. “What does it matter? They died either way.”

“We can argue about this— _yet again—_ later,” Obi-Wan said impatiently. He finally regarded Ahsoka. “Our interests aligned: neither of us had any love for the Empire, and even less for Inquisitors. Destroying as many of them as we could seemed like a good use of our time.”

She didn’t like the way he kept saying _‘we.’_ And she definitely didn’t like the banter; it felt far too familiar, far too much like how he was with Anakin, far too friendly—

In fact, the way that they were staring at each other, the way that they were standing so close together… 

Ahsoka felt like she was going to be sick. 

“However,” Obi-Wan continued, “we seem to have reached the limit of what we are able to accomplish on our own, which is why we asked to meet.” He exchanged a look with Maul: something far too amused, far too conspiratorial, far too much like a shared joke… “We would like to join the Rebellion.”

“How could you have done this?” Ahsoka demanded, finally able to speak in something louder than a whisper. “Maul killed Master Qui-Gon, he killed Duchess Satine, he was Palpatine’s apprentice, he did so many things to hurt _you,_ specifically—how could you possibly have allied with him?”

“See, Lady Tano?” Maul interjected. “I do, in fact, understand what the word ‘ally’ means.”

She ignored him, still looking at Obi-Wan. “Tell me _how.”_ she said.

“It was easy, Ahsoka,” he replied, still smiling that horrible cold smile. “I simply stopped caring.”


	2. Chapter 2

It is amazing what a person is capable of when they no longer care. When they no longer consider the welfare of others. When they cut their ties to anything that might have stopped them before.

His Master was dead. His friends, fellow Jedi, nearly everyone he had ever known, were dead as well. Satine was dead, Padmé was dead, and Anakin was worse than dead.

But what did it matter? They weren't him. Their deaths took nothing from him but their company.

The Dark had finally accomplished what decades of Jedi training had not: perfect detachment. Whether others lived or died no longer mattered to him. Death was inevitable and as long as it wasn't his death, why should he care?

He had always assumed that the embrace of the Dark Side would do to him what it had done to Anakin: filled him with anger, paranoia, a thirst for power over others, a hair-trigger temper, and delusions of grandeur.

Instead, he just felt bored.

That was why he had allowed the man he once considered his worst enemy into his home, his confidence and, eventually, his bed: because Maul was anything but boring and, together, they could keep each other amused.

It had been a gradual slide, his descent into the Dark. Lonely night after lonely night on Tatooine, full of far too many reminders of Anakin—reminders that hurt even more once he learned that his former apprentice had survived Mustafar and was now terrorizing the galaxy in an even more heinous manner than before—and he felt all of his hopes and joys vanishing one by one, like stars winking out in the sky. Eventually, all that was left was the void. 

He could hear the whispers at the edge of his senses, though: the almost-words of his long-dead Master, the one that Yoda had claimed he could learn to communicate with. The whispers that grew more and more frequent, more and more clear, more and more urgent.

With enough time, Qui-Gon could have brought him back to the Light and set him back on the right path. But there wasn’t time, because someone else arrived.

Obi-Wan could sense him before he even left Mos Eisley: Maul made no secret of his presence in the Force; in fact, Obi-Wan suspected that he had probably been trying to make himself as noticeable as possible.

Rather than wait for Maul to track him all the way to his home in the Jundland Wastes, Obi-Wan decided to meet him halfway. He camped out in the desert, lit a fire to both signal his location and to keep away the chill of the night, and waited.

“You’re early,” was all he said when Maul came within range. What he felt, though, was something entirely unexpected: relief.

Maul had undoubtedly been preparing some kind of dramatic speech in his head, and Obi-Wan was rather satisfied that he had managed to ruin it with only two words. 

“Look at you,” Maul sneered at last, “hiding in the desert like a scavenger.”

“It’s always nice to receive visitors,” Obi-Wan said mildly, not even bothering to stand up. He held up a canteen of water. “Can I offer you a drink?”

This was obviously not how Maul had envisioned this confrontation playing out. 

“All of this sand is probably hell on those mechanical legs of yours,” Obi-Wan added. “Have a seat.”

Maul remained where he was. His unlit lightsaber was in his hand, and after Obi-Wan’s latest attempt at sarcasm, his grip on the pommel tightened. “I have come for my revenge,” he growled. 

Obi-Wan sighed. “What is it this time?” He tried to think about Qui-Gon, about Satine, both of them dying in his arms… but whatever part of him that had grieved for them was now lost. He just felt… tired.

“It is what it has always been,” Maul snapped.

“Is it?” Obi-Wan asked wearily. “To my recollection, it seems to be something different every time. We even take turns: you kill someone, I defeat you, you kill someone else, I defeat you again, you kill another person, I defeat you—although,” he said as he stroked his beard in thought, “I think it might be _my_ turn, not yours.”

“You and your precious Jedi ran me off of Mandalore,” Maul said, looking increasingly off-balance.

“Which I was not there for, remember?” Obi-Wan tried to feel something about the tragedy that Maul’s arrival on Mandalore had caused… but he felt nothing.

“I _know,"_ Maul snarled. “You sent that little girl to fight in your place.”

Obi-Wan regarded him silently for a moment, and then laughed in disbelief. “Are you actually _upset_ that I wasn't the one leading the attack?”

“At least _you_ would have been a worthy opponent,” he spat in reply.

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow. “And yet, the last I heard, you were… shall we say, _‘evicted,’_ weren't you?” He smiled. “It sounds like Ahsoka was worthy enough.”

Maul now looked more frustrated than angry. “You were a coward then and you are a coward now. I will cut you down like the desert rat that you are, like I struck down your Master, like—”

“And then what?” Obi-Wan interrupted, still waiting to feel something in response to the memory of Qui-Gon’s death. All he felt was empty… and the more he looked at Maul, the more Obi-Wan realized that this former Sith was just as empty as he was. “You kill me, and then what? You go back to obeying your Master in the hopes that he might take pity on you and let you be his apprentice again?”

Maul growled wordlessly; Obi-Wan continued, uncertain of where these words and thoughts were even coming from. “You might as well admit it—hating me is the only thing you have. You have no other purpose, no other plan, no other meaning in your life.” He flashed Maul a grin. “What would you even _be_ without me? You _need_ me. Killing me would be so… boring, wouldn't it?”

He watched Maul’s expression shift through an array of emotions: anger, bitterness, confusion, irritation… 

Hunger?

“Stay with me,” Obi-Wan said, surprising himself as much as Maul, “and you can enjoy your obsession with me for as long as you like.”

He had no idea what he was even implying. 

“I am not _obsessed_ with you,” Maul hissed.

Obi-Wan couldn’t help scoffing. “Yes, you are—of _course_ you are. You conquered a _planet_ to get my _attention_ —since I highly doubt it was because of the delightful Mandalorian architecture, or because Pre Vizsla was so very charming. You went there because of me. Everything you did on Mandalore was because of _me.”_

“Which makes every death that occurred there _your_ fault,” Maul retorted, sounding a little defensive.

Obi-Wan waited again to feel _something_ … but there was nothing but the darkness that seemed to be all that was left of him. “Perhaps,” he admitted, “but you were the one who went to all that effort, not me.”

Because there was nothing left, because all he felt was empty and bored, because he seemed unable to care, and because he had been alone in the desert for the last four years, only three words came to mind:

_I missed you._

They had been trying to kill each other for almost two decades at this point, and during that time they had managed to lose everything else that mattered. Short of confronting Anakin again, there was little else he could occupy himself with until Luke was old enough to start training as a Jedi.

Which was why he said it again: “Stay.”

After a tense silence, during which he wondered if it would really be so bad for Maul to just murder him here because Obi-Wan didn’t give enough of a damn to fight back, Maul dropped his saber onto the sand and sat down next to it.

“I brought my own water,” he grumbled.

“I’m impressed,” Obi-Wan said, raising an eyebrow. “You never struck me as much of a planner.”

“I despise you.”

“I suppose that being despised is better than being ignored.” Obi-Wan took a drink from his canteen and looked up at the stars. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

* * *

“I _told_ you that the code was silly, but you _insisted_ that I write it down—”

Maul almost looked like he was _sulking._ “It was necessary in case it was intercepted—”

Obi-Wan interrupted him. “—in which case, it would have been deciphered just as quickly, because the Empire is not _entirely_ made up of idiots.”

“You could have fooled me,” Maul muttered under his breath.

“Particularly elaborate _windows_ could fool you,” Obi-Wan remarked drily. He turned back to face Bail and the others with a smile that was almost pleasant. “But, facile as it was, it did work: here we all are, back together.”

Bail could barely process anything that he had just witnessed. He was still reeling—they were all still reeling, in fact—in shock at this pair of twisted nightmares cheerfully offering to help the Rebellion.

Help that up till now had taken the form of murders so numerous and brutal that it was unbelievable that only two people were responsible.

Ahsoka, using the excuse that she needed to protect her identity as Fulcrum, left before Maul and Obi-Wan even docked at the waystation that served as the Rebellion’s rendezvous point.

Bail wasn’t supposed to be there but Ahsoka had asked him to come, and did her best to warn him about what he was going to encounter when he arrived. It still wasn’t enough to prepare him for this horrifying predator wearing his former friend’s face and exchanging sardonic looks with the monster at his side.

Bail couldn’t even bring himself to look Obi-Wan in the eyes. It wasn’t just the change in color—which was unsettling enough—it was the way that he seemed to look at everyone as though they were mildly interesting holos, rather than real people.

 _Not_ everyone, Bail silently amended: there was one person who Obi-Wan didn’t look at that way, which actually made it worse.

That was the thing that had brought Ahsoka almost to tears when she called Bail: not because the Jedi Master she had looked up to for so many years had fallen to the Dark Side or because he was responsible for so many atrocities, but because of Maul. 

“It was like this… like this _parody_ of him and Anakin,” she said. “Like they had been friends for years, or…” She trailed off and, at the time, Bail didn’t understand why.

He understood now: certain looks that they gave one another, a hand brushing an arm, the slight intake of breath when the other one moved a little closer…

Something had happened.

* * *

The entire trip back to Kenobi’s dwelling, Maul had been on edge. He kept waiting for something to happen, but the only thing that happened was Kenobi occasionally offering him a drink of water and then staring off into the distance as they trekked across the dunes.

 _Draw your lightsaber, or run away, or… or… throw a rock at me, just do_ _something_ _!_

A part of his mind did point out that there was nothing stopping him from killing Kenobi at any point during this journey, but he kept delaying it. Not until he learned what Kenobi was doing here on this disgusting ball of dust. Not until they had arrived at Kenobi’s dwelling, so that Maul would have supplies for his journey back to the city. Not until Maul figured out what the hell was wrong with Kenobi.

Because something was obviously wrong. 

The man leading Maul across the sand was not the one he had encountered so many times before: the noble, practically- _perfect_ Jedi, the one that Maul had managed to hurt all those years ago and kept trying to push closer and closer to the edge ever since, just to see what would happen when he broke.

But apparently Kenobi had broken without his help, which angered Maul more than he had anticipated.

_It was that Skywalker brat, most likely, ruining everything as usual. He displaced me as Sidious’ apprentice, and then he displaced me as Kenobi’s…_

…as Kenobi’s _what,_ exactly?

 _I took so many people away from him and yet it was Skywalker who broke his spirit. It should have been me,_ _I_ _should have been the one who destroyed him,_ _I_ _should have been the one to get my revenge—_

Now, it was as though Kenobi was standing on the brink of a vast abyss, staring down into nothingness, waiting to fall.

_Killing him would only put him out of his misery. What would be the point of that?_

_But if he fell… that might be even better._

Perhaps there were things Maul could do to him after all.

He had tried before—it had been part of the fun of pushing Kenobi to the breaking point: to watch the _‘perfect Jedi’_ struggle to keep his hatred and anger in check, to know that a single misstep would cause him to fall forever… but then what?

_He would try to kill me, of course. Perhaps he would even succeed._

_But if anyone_ _was_ _going to kill me, if I had a choice of who would do it…_

That was what had fueled his… it wasn’t an _obsession,_ Maul refused to call it an obsession, it was merely… it was just… just… 

It was that moment on Naboo, hearing Kenobi’s anguished scream as his Master collapsed, and seeing the look in his eyes as he resumed his attack:

The man had burned like the sun.

All that Maul wanted was to see that look, that inferno, one more time. 

Yes, Maul had been enraged by the injuries he had received in that duel and by the years he had spent afterwards, half-mad, abandoned on a planet of filth and debris. That was more than enough reason to seek revenge, but behind his thirst for revenge was an even sharper hunger: greed. 

All of Kenobi’s attention, all of his pain, all of his fury and grief, every thought or nightmare he ever had—Maul wanted all of it to be his. 

And he realized, with a sudden chill, that Kenobi was right: if Maul killed him, there would be nothing for him to do afterwards. It would be pointless. It would be… boring.

So he decided to find another way to get his revenge.

He just wasn’t sure how. Arriving at Kenobi’s home hadn’t made anything clearer; the man kept wandering around the living space almost absentmindedly, tidying up, asking the occasional question as if Maul were a _guest._

This strange behavior went on for nearly an hour before Maul finally snapped and drew his lightsaber.

“I did not come here to… to _socialize!”_ he spat. “I came here to kill you! Draw your weapon and _fight me!”_

But Kenobi barely seemed to notice. “There isn’t enough room inside for a duel.” He raised an eyebrow. “Besides, wouldn’t it be easier to kill me if I didn’t have a weapon?”

This was not how he envisioned this confrontation. Kenobi wasn't even _looking_ at him. This was maddening.

Maul spoke through clenched teeth. “I came here, I came all this way, just to find _you,_ Kenobi, so that I could _finally_ have the revenge that I have been seeking for so many years.” He tried to make every word hit like a blow… if only their intended target actually _understood_ what was being inflicted on him. “I have plotted and dreamed and _waited_ for this moment to arrive. This has gone on long enough.”

Still staring at a point on the wall, Kenobi got a strange look on his face, and then nodded. “I agree,” he said quietly, “this _has_ gone on long enough. All those years… they were so pointless, weren’t they?” He turned to face Maul. “The only reason why we fought to begin with was because you were a Sith apprentice and I was a Jedi apprentice and that was what we were ordered to do.”

Maul wanted to snap at him that the Jedi had murdered and defiled the Sith Order for hundreds of years and that his first attack had been the opening strike to avenge his deceased Sith brothers… but before he could speak, he finally looked Kenobi in the eyes—and froze.

Kenobi wasn’t standing on the edge of an abyss… he _was_ the abyss. 

He was empty inside.

Noticing Maul’s hesitation, Kenobi continued. “What if your revenge didn’t matter anymore? What if you were able to cast it aside?” He took a step closer, standing mere centimeters from the blade. “What if you just didn’t care any longer? What would you be without it?” He took the saber out of Maul’s hand, turned it off, and let it fall to the floor. “What if you were finally free of it? Who would you be? What would you do?”

Whatever man Maul had sworn vengeance against… this was not him.

There was nothing left to break. Nothing left to hurt. Nothing left to fall.

Kenobi had already fallen.

Should he pick up his saber and kill Kenobi anyway? Should he grab whatever supplies he could and run? Should he flee back to the fringe, or back to Sidious, or back to Dathomir, or to any other place that had given him a purpose or direction?

What if he didn’t do any of that?

Who would he become?

What would he do instead?

 _Do_ _something_ _!_

He grabbed Kenobi’s chin in his hand and kissed him.

The man stiffened in surprise and Maul waited for him to recoil, to throw him back out into the desert, to attack him, to scream at him, so that at least _something_ would happen and Maul would know what direction to go in next.

But instead, what happened was this: Kenobi dug his fingers into Maul’s shoulders, pulled him in until they were pressed against one another, and kissed him as though he was starving. 

Maul knew that feeling of starvation well: it was the kind of hunger that was born of absence, of having nothing left to burn, a willingness to grasp something, _anything,_ just because it was there.

And what Kenobi was grasping… was him.

At long last, Maul had his attention— _all_ of it.

He felt his back arching, felt a desperate moan growing in the back of his throat, felt their breath and tongues and limbs mingling together, trying to get closer, as close as possible—

What a strange place Kenobi must be in at the moment: fallen from the Light but not yet embraced the Dark. He needed someone to show him, to help him take that final step… 

Maul had never helped anyone in his entire life. He didn’t think he knew how.

And yet, somehow, he heard himself whispering, heard himself murmuring words into Kenobi’s skin, telling him what to do, slowly guiding him into the Dark the same way that Kenobi was slowly guiding him to his bed.

The Force trembled around them when he finally stepped across that final threshold and joined Maul in the darkness.

Maul was lying on his back, looking up at him, when Kenobi opened his eyes.

_That color… that fiery gold… that inferno I’ve waited so long to see again…_

He burned like the sun. 

And together, they would never stop burning.

* * *

“I thought that Gerrera’s Partisans were difficult enough allies,” Mon Mothma said wearily. “What do we even _do_ with two Dark Side users who can take on entire armies?”

“We find armies for them to fight?” suggested one of the commanders at the table.

“With the knowledge that they would also kill any civilians in their path as well? Even children?” Mon Mothma demanded. “We are not the Empire; we cannot sink to their level.”

“So we order them not to kill civilians,” the commander replied, as though it were obvious. 

It wasn’t that simple. “I’m not sure that we _can_ order them to do anything,” Bail said. “It isn’t as though we could stop them if they disobeyed. They could probably murder everyone here without breaking a sweat, and they know that we know that.” He sighed, trying to keep away the feeling of horror that had taken up residence in his stomach since he saw Obi-Wan again. “I think they’re on our side only as long as we give them something interesting to do.”

Mon Mothma put her head in her hands. “I hate to think what those two would be like if they were bored.”

Bail, unfortunately, knew rather vividly what they were like when they had nothing else to do: he had accidentally opened the wrong door and walked in on them in the middle of it. 

Worse yet, Obi-Wan saw him standing there. Looking at him with half-lidded eyes, Bail’s former friend smiled that horrible smile… and then sank his teeth into the skin of Maul’s bare shoulder.

Shaken, Bail quickly backed out of the room and shut the door, cutting off Maul’s delighted moan.

Even now, the memory made him shudder. Not due to prudishness—they were both consenting adults, after all—but because he couldn’t imagine the kind of twisted circumstances that would have brought a Jedi Master together like that with one of his worst enemies… and enjoy it.

There was another source of horror, however, that threatened to destroy any attempt at composure Bail possessed:

Obi-Wan knew about Leia.

And Bail no longer trusted him to keep it a secret.

Not only that: Bail also realized that Obi-Wan was the one everyone had been counting on to train both of Padmé’s children when they were old enough. Yes, there was still Yoda, but he was isolated on Dagobah and was so old that there was no guarantee that he would even be alive by the time Luke and Leia were ready. For all anyone knew, he might be dead already; there was no way to know without traveling there in person.

Bail had already been ambivalent about his daughter one day embarking on the life of a Jedi, a life that he knew was full of danger and risk, a life that he could never prepare her for because it was so far outside his experience—but he had reassured himself at the time that at least Obi-Wan would do his best to keep her safe.

There was nothing safe about the man he had just encountered.

At least with Vader… well, Bail could at least _somewhat_ understand why he had turned to the Dark Side: Palpatine had tempted him with the promise of power and turned him against the Jedi Order and the Republic. Plenty of people were corrupted that way.

He had just assumed that any Dark Side users would automatically ally themselves with the Empire. No one had considered that it could be otherwise.

So if Obi-Wan decided that he still wanted to train Leia and Luke in the ways of the Force, with Maul’s help… they wouldn’t be Jedi. They would likely end up… 

Bail couldn’t think about that right now. He couldn’t. Not his daughter. Not her. He needed to keep her as far away from them as possible and hope that Obi-Wan stayed distracted enough to not go looking for her. After all, he seemed to have left Luke alone (Bail refused to consider any alternative).

But if he did try to find her… Bail wasn’t sure if there was anything he could do to prevent it.

Ahsoka had held her own against Maul in the past, but Obi-Wan… even Vader, the killer of so many Jedi, hadn’t been able to defeat him.

(Vader, whose former identity was unknown to everyone in the Rebellion except Bail and Obi-Wan. Bail couldn’t bear to tell Ahsoka the truth about her former Master—especially not now, not with this latest tragedy—and he desperately hoped that Obi-Wan never told her either.)

And with Vader already out there, could the Rebellion afford to make an enemy of the only two Force-users who might have a chance of stopping him?

* * *

He wasn’t sure when he fell asleep. Perhaps he hadn’t. 

He did, however, wake up.

He was still on Tatooine, still in the small dwelling carved out of sandstone that he still refused to call a _‘home,’_ still in the same bed he had woken up in for the last four years, still looking at the bare floor (bare except for the lightsaber now lying there, abandoned for the moment), but none of it felt familiar.

None of _him_ felt familiar.

It was as though every sense was turned up to the highest possible setting. It was overwhelming, he felt like he was on fire, he was crawling out of his skin—

Speaking of skin… Maul was still there.

And yet, Obi-Wan was barely able to comprehend _that_ new experience because it felt like the entire universe had worked its way into his blood and was now _screaming_ as it burned its way through his veins.

He had always thought that the Dark Side would feel cold.

It wasn’t.

He had always thought that it would feel horrible.

It didn’t.

He thought that he would be full of rage.

He wasn’t.

He thought that he would despise himself.

He didn’t.

Instead, all of the things he was feeling could be summed up in a single word:

_Finally._

The outcome he had once feared, the sudden snuffing out of the Light, turning his back on everything he had ever hoped he could be, betraying every ideal he had ever tried to live up to; after every exhausting day and night spent trying to be a hero, every arduous effort to abide by the Code, to keep his emotions in check, to set an example for others, to not fall…

But now, _finally,_ he didn’t have to worry about any of those things happening, because they had already happened. He was free.

Now what?

That was the question that beat in time with his heartbeat (racing so quickly, too quickly, he had to move, he had to act), throbbed behind his eyes (something had happened, something had changed, he knew his eyes were different now), a rhythm that he couldn’t stop or alter: _now what?_

Because he had to do _something,_ he _had_ to—if he sat still for too long he would burst into flames, he would devour his own heart, he would explode, not from rage but from _boredom._

He finally looked over at the person lying next to him.

Maul’s eyes were open.

Obi-Wan couldn’t help starting in surprise. “Do you ever _blink?”_ he demanded. He had the sneaking suspicion that Maul had just been lying there awake until Obi-Wan noticed him. He couldn’t exactly imagine the man ever _sleeping._

Although, the way he was feeling now, Obi-Wan wasn’t sure if he could imagine _himself_ ever sleeping again. He felt far too jittery, far too _alive,_ to do anything as mundane as sleep.

Maul stared at him in silence for another few seconds, then gave him a look that was part sneer and part smile. “How do you feel now, _Jedi?”_ he asked.

“Don’t say that,” Obi-Wan said sharply. Something about that word just felt _wrong_ now. He made a brief snort of laughter. “I suppose there isn’t a pamphlet or anything on the Dark Side, is there?”

Maul’s expression softened, very slightly. “There _is_ the Code of the Sith,” he said.

Obi-Wan scoffed. “I may not be a Jedi any longer, but I’m not _that,_ either.”

“What a shame,” he said, his mouth widening into a feral grin. “Would you like to know how it begins? _‘Peace is a lie,”_ he whispered as he ran his fingers down the center of Obi-Wan’s chest, _“‘there is only passion.’”_

Obi-Wan felt his breath catch in his throat. What had happened only a short time ago… well, that certainly hadn’t been boring.

Yes, he could certainly keep himself occupied with _that_ for awhile, until he worked out what to do next.

“Show me,” Obi-Wan murmured, reaching yet again for his lips, his skin, his touch…


	3. Chapter 3

Naalol: 21 dead. 

Vryssa: 53 dead.

Felucia: 74 dead.

Spintir: 49 dead.

Mantooine: 96 dead.

Garel: 61 dead.

Bardelberan: 109 dead. 

They didn’t bother to tally the number of Imperial personnel who died on Scarif: by the end of the battle, the former research and development facility was little more than a crater in the ground. The total casualties were easily in the hundreds, if not more.

“We gave you more than enough time to access the data vault before the Citadel was destroyed,” Obi-Wan said afterwards. “I don’t understand what the issue was.”

“We could have spent  _ weeks  _ extracting all the data that the complex contained!” one of Fulcrum’s agents protested angrily. “And now it’s  _ gone,  _ for no reason other than your utter—”

The agent suddenly stopped speaking and gasped for breath.

“I’m terribly sorry,” Obi-Wan said softly, stepping closer to the agent, who was now clawing at his own neck, “I wasn’t aware that you were in the business of providing feedback. Please, what else do you have a problem with?”

“Nothing—nothing!” the agent managed to choke out.

“Thank you so much,” Obi-Wan replied. “I always appreciate hearing other points of view.”

“Stop it,” Ahsoka snapped. “We’re not the Empire, we don’t attack our own allies.”

Obi-Wan’s eyes flicked in her direction, as usual looking at her as though he had forgotten she was there. “Very well,” he said.

His throat now clear, the agent collapsed to his hands and knees, heaving as he began to breathe again.

“Besides,” Obi-Wan continued, “it was Maul’s impatience that accelerated the timeline of events, not me.”

“So much for solidarity,” Maul grumbled.

“You know that I’m right,” he replied with a smile.

“I should have just thrown you off the top of the tower when I had the chance.”

“Now, what would have been the fun in that?” 

Ahsoka’s stomach churned and she tried not to gag as she watched her own agent pick himself up off of the floor and retreat to a far corner of the briefing room.

She didn’t want to admit it, even to herself, but there was a part of her that, deep down, hoped there would one day be a mission where Maul and Obi-Wan were outmatched and killed. 

Well, Maul at least. There might still be a chance of reaching Obi-Wan… but the longer Ahsoka spent around him, the more she doubted it.

Not that she had many opportunities to talk to Obi-Wan alone: Maul was always by his side, exchanging heated glances with him, making sarcastic remarks, holding all of Obi-Wan’s attention, until the entire room felt full of static interference and Ahsoka could no longer stand to be there.

But on one of the rare moments when Obi-Wan was alone, she used the most brutal accusation she could think of: “What would Anakin think if he saw you like this?”

And then Obi-Wan laughed at her.

Anakin had died, he had been shot by his own troops and was probably lying somewhere in the depths of Coruscant’s lower levels, nothing but bones now… and his own Master  _ laughed  _ when she said his name.

“Oh, Ahsoka,” he said in a voice that would have sounded pitying if she was certain that he could even  _ feel  _ pity anymore. “You have no idea.”

Later she overheard him telling Maul what she had said, and they both laughed even harder. 

If she’d had any confidence that she would succeed in the attempt, Ahsoka would have drawn her sabers and stabbed them both. She didn’t care that they had offered to help the Rebellion: nothing could be worse than what she was seeing and hearing now.

Bail cornered her the next time they were in the same location. “We’re running out of targets, aren’t we?” he asked, though from the tone of his voice it was more statement than question.

“I’ve been hoping that they’ll just move on and become someone else’s problem,” she said sadly.

Bail shook his head, and Ahsoka braced herself for an admonition that she should also consider the welfare of whatever innocents might be in the path of those two nightmares, but instead he whispered urgently, “If it ever looks like they might go off on their own again, I need you to get Leia from Alderaan, get Luke from Tatooine, and  _ run.” _

“Run where?”

“Anywhere. Just away. Don’t let them find you. If they get their hands on Padmé’s children, they will turn them into monsters.”

_ Anakin’s children, _ she almost snapped; Bail always seemed eager to forget about Anakin, even though he was just as much their parent as Padmé was. But she kept quiet this time, because she knew that Bail was right about one thing: Ahsoka might be the only person who could keep the twins hidden.

It was one of the only things she could do to honor Anakin’s memory.

“Obi-Wan and Maul are starting to attract too much attention,” she said. “Eventually, Vader is going to come after them personally.”

Bail’s expression somehow grew even grimmer than before. “I’m beginning to think that might be their plan.”

* * *

Staying on Tatooine was not an option; he would go mad, sitting here in all this sand with nothing to do (although Maul’s continued presence did alleviate some of the boredom he was feeling).

There was, however, the matter of Luke. Obi-Wan was supposed to watch over him from a distance until he was old enough to train—without all the Temple’s infrastructure, it didn’t make much sense to take the boy until he had received at least a basic education, so Obi-Wan still had a few years to go.

But watching over Luke wasn’t exactly difficult: there wasn’t much a four-year-old boy could do to attract the attention of the Empire all the way out here. The only exception was if Luke displayed obvious signs of Force-sensitivity, at which point an Inquisitor might come to investigate, and then Obi-Wan would there to deal with them.

But that was  _ boring. _

Fortunately, he had an idea that would solve both problems: protecting Luke  _ and  _ keeping himself occupied.

“What would you think about killing Inquisitors with me?” he asked Maul without preamble.

Maul’s eyes lit up with interest. “Which ones?” he asked.

“Every single one we can find.”

* * *

“There is no easy way to put this,” Mon Mothma said. “If they discover what we are planning, they will kill us. All of us, most likely.”

“They’re on the verge of doing that anyway,” Commander Sato said, tense with frustration. “More and more of my soldiers are showing up in the medical bay with injuries. I have even had several desertions. If we don’t deal with this soon, our fleet will fall apart.”

“We don’t have any other choice,” Ahsoka agreed after a long pause. “This might be our only opportunity.”

“If they survive—” Sato began.

“If they survive,” Bail said, “our top priority is to get Ahsoka into hiding as quickly as possible.”

“But—” Ahsoka protested, but Bail shook his head. They both knew he was right: Luke and Leia needed to stay safe and untraceable, and she was the only Light Side-user who could make sure that they vanished. Dagobah was no longer an option: Obi-Wan knew about that too.

So many plans had hinged on him. No one had expected him to fall. 

On the other hand, Bail thought, no one expected Anakin Skywalker to fall either. 

It was a small conspiracy, with only four members: Mon Mothma, Commander Sato of Phoenix Group, Ahsoka, and Bail. It was unthinkable that they were even considering it, but Ahsoka was right: they were out of other options.

Despite the danger if they were discovered, the plan itself was simple: the Rebel forces would launch an assault on Mustafar at a time when Vader was confirmed to be there, they would send Maul and Obi-Wan down to the planet to lead the attack… and then the fleet would withdraw and abandon them there, leaving them alone with Vader and whatever forces the Sith Lord could bring to bear against them.

Whatever the outcome, at least one of the Rebellion’s problems would be over.

* * *

Returning to Mustafar was less upsetting than Obi-Wan thought it would be.

Yes, he had dueled Anakin here and left him for dead, and this was most likely the incident that started his own fall from the Light, but as usual, he no longer cared about that sort of thing.

“I’m almost impressed,” Maul said, looking around at the inferno of lava around them. “He somehow found a planet even more hellish than Tatooine.”

“He never did anything halfway,” Obi-Wan remarked, focusing on the massive fortress in the distance. “It was always all-or-nothing with Anakin.”

The Dark Side that permeated this place was almost intoxicating; he understood why Anakin would have decided to reside here, in spite of it being the site of his greatest defeat.

_ Poor thing. _

Well, it would be over soon enough. 

The comm Obi-Wan was carrying made a sudden squawk. “They’ve jumped to hyperspace,” he said once he had examined it.

“What a shame,” Maul said, smirking. He noticed Obi-Wan’s expression. “What is it?”

“Go on,” Obi-Wan prompted. “Say it.”

“I despise you.”

“I want to hear you say it.”

Maul emitted an annoyed exhale.  _ “Fine:  _ you were correct when you predicted that they would abandon us here.” He glared. “Are you satisfied?”

Obi-Wan smiled and ran his hand down the length of Maul’s arm. “You know that I never am.”

“Careful,” he said, catching Obi-Wan’s fingers with his other hand. “Let’s not get distracted just yet.”

Anakin was close; Obi-Wan could sense him—even after all these years, their bond survived, the one that let him sense his former Padawan even through the knot of fury and pain that seemed to be all that was left of Anakin now.

_ Poor thing. _

“I suppose we’re about to discover which of the three of us can be the most dramatic,” he said drily. 

“With Sidious as his Master, I imagine that he has had quite a bit of practice,” Maul replied. As usual when Palpatine was mentioned, his voice was bitter.

Obi-Wan’s response was cut short by a distant sound that he had been informed about but never heard first-hand: labored mechanical breathing.

Darth Vader was on his way to meet them.

“The ground is level this time,” Obi-Wan remarked quietly as he stared at the featureless expanse of ash and volcanic rock that lay between them. “That should make things interesting.”

Anakin’s movements were stiff, almost clumsy, which was understandable, given the amount of cybernetic replacements he had needed. He was still probably faster than most non-Force users, and even some Jedi, since he had been able to kill quite a few in the last five years.

“You  _ do  _ enjoy cutting off legs, don’t you?” Maul murmured. “I should have known you had a type.”

“How else does one deal with Sith apprentices?” Obi-Wan inquired, feigning innocence.

“We’re about to find out, aren’t we?”

Soon, Anakin was close enough to speak: “At last,” he said in a voice that was absurdly deep, “we meet again, Obi-Wan.”

“Hello Anakin,” Obi-Wan said, unclipping his lightsaber from his belt. “My goodness, you’ve grown.”

It was a cheap shot, using the first words that Anakin’s wife had ever said to him when they met again years later, but he couldn’t resist.

Anakin’s anger flared, red-hot, and therefore it took him a moment to recognize Maul, standing a few steps behind Obi-Wan. “What is this?” Anakin demanded. He actually sounded… confused? Disgusted?

Hurt?

_ Poor thing. _

Obi-Wan stepped a little closer to his former apprentice. “Well,” he said mildly, “you made the Dark Side look so fun that I decided to give it a try myself.” He glanced back at Maul, who was watching the whole thing and looking rather entertained. “And I made a few friends along the way.”

“So you came here to propose an alliance?” Anakin still sounded uncertain, but Obi-Wan could hear a growing note of interest in his voice.

_ Poor thing. _

“Sorry to get your hopes up,” Obi-Wan said as he ignited his lightsaber, “but no.”

Anakin’s saber was out and swinging in his direction in an instant. Obi-Wan parried, and the duel began.

Maul was there only a moment later: the two of them trying to divide Anakin’s attention, to pick away at him until he was overwhelmed, as they had killed so many Inquisitors together before.

But Anakin, as always, was no mere Force-user: he was light-years ahead of any Inquisitor they had faced, and Obi-Wan found himself drawing on powers and skills that he had not needed for so many years… not since the last time he was here on Mustafar, in fact.

“Ah,” Obi-Wan said, blocking another overhead strike, “I see you’ve constructed a new lightsaber.” He gave the scarlet blade a critical look. “I’m not sure about the color, though.”

“You will find that my powers have only grown since our previous battle,” Anakin said—proclaimed, more accurately.

“As well as your height; I hope you thanked Palpatine for those extra centimeters.” Obi-Wan pressed his attack, probing Anakin’s defenses.

The last time they fought, Obi-Wan had been reluctant to kill his former apprentice, and had therefore held himself back, at least on a subconscious level.

He had no such restraint now.

“Why must you constantly chatter during these things, Kenobi?” Maul grumbled, aiming a slash at Anakin’s head, one blocked at the last second. “Do you enjoy the sound of your own voice that much?”

“It has been five years since Anakin and I last saw one another,” Obi-Wan protested. “I’m taking the opportunity to catch up.”

“I swear, Kenobi, I will cut out your blasted tongue when this is all over.”

“Are you sure?” Obi-Wan said with a smirk. “I think you’ll end up missing my tongue more than I will.”

_ “Be quiet,”  _ Anakin growled, using telekinesis to shove Maul backwards.

“Finally, we agree on something,” Maul said, recovering his footing in time to dodge another one of Anakin’s strikes.

“How could you have sunk so low, Obi-Wan, that you joined forces with this sorry excuse for a Sith?” Anakin sneered.

Obi-Wan replied with a mocking smile. “Is that jealousy I hear?” He flipped back out of range and readied his next attack. “I would be happy to provide details… or perhaps you two could compare notes.”

Anakin had never handled discomfort or embarrassment well, and Obi-Wan was sure that the constant hints at the nature of his relationship with Maul were making his former apprentice  _ very  _ uncomfortable.

_ Poor thing. _

Anakin charged forward, so focused on Obi-Wan that Maul was able to get in a minor hit to Anakin’s side.

The vocoder in his mask made Anakin’s exclamation of pain sound more like a droid than a person. 

_ Perhaps he’s more machine than man now. _

_ We’ll find out soon enough. _

Even while wounded, Anakin’s saber skills were still enough to leave him more or less evenly matched with the other two.

_ It’s like being back on Naboo, only we’ve all switched places. _

Eighteen years ago. That was when his life really began: eighteen years ago, in the Tatooine desert and a generator room in Theed.

_ Every truly interesting moment in my entire life, one of you was there. _

_ I can’t imagine anything better than this fight. I would do this forever if I could. _

_ But I can’t. _

_ I missed you, Anakin, but you are still Palpatine’s little minion… and we can’t have that, can we? _

“This is really your fault, Kenobi,” Maul said, doing his best to get behind Anakin and further split his attention. “If you hadn’t spent so much effort training this one, we would have defeated him already.”

“Oh, come now,” Obi-Wan chided him, “this is fun, isn’t it?”

“We appear to have vastly different definitions for the word  _ ‘fun.’” _

Obi-Wan gazed at him fondly. “You know that we don’t.” He aimed a kick at Anakin’s knee, but wasn’t quite able to connect. “I’ll have to refresh your memory of that later.”

“I think I’m going to forget all sorts of things, then… it will provide you with a real challenge.”

_ “Stop talking!”  _ Anakin roared, now turning the full extent of his rage in Maul’s direction. Maul was able to block the powerful blow from his overhead swing, but then Anakin dragged the blade down the length of his opponent’s saber and delivered a vicious slash to Maul’s upper arm.

With a groan of agony, Maul recoiled, clutching at the wound.

A rush of anger overtook Obi-Wan’s senses, and he threw himself into close range, hammering away at the red blade with a fury that the Dark Side rewarded tenfold.

Anakin seemed to be taken aback by the sudden shift, and was now on the defensive. 

_ This time, Anakin, I am with you in the Dark. Does that make this a fair fight? _

_ Was it ever a fair fight? _

He saw his opening.

It was just like last time: Anakin was so confident in his own abilities that he didn’t pay attention to his potential deficiencies. Obi-Wan aimed low and, with a crackle of metal and wires, took off his right leg just above the knee.

As his former apprentice collapsed, Obi-Wan brought his blade up and slashed through the life support unit on Anakin’s chest, which emitted a blinding shower of sparks.

Anakin landed on his back and the mechanical respirator fell silent.

“It’s always the legs,” Maul said drily. His arm was still attached, fortunately, but the lightsaber wound had left a deep furrow in his bicep.

Obi-Wan gestured at Anakin as he knelt beside him. “Hold him down, please,” he ordered Maul. 

Anakin struggled against the telekinetic pressure pinning him to the ground, but for all of his power in the Force, the fact remained that his life support unit was failing and he was outnumbered.

_ That’s the trouble, Anakin: you lost the only friends you ever had. Being alone made you weak. _

_ But you won’t have to die alone. _

_ I’ll make sure of that. _

Obi-Wan’s fingers found the release mechanism for the helmet and, after only a few seconds, he saw the face of his apprentice again.

It was strange to see him without hair, and even stranger to see him so pale. The burn scars made a faint kaleidoscope on Anakin’s skin, but were only briefly noticeable compared to the sickly yellow eyes glaring up at him.

“I hate you!” he rasped at Obi-Wan; without the machinery to help control his breathing, he was reduced to gasping at an increasingly rapid rate, his body desperate for air that would not come—not enough air, at least.

He was slowly asphyxiating. It must be torture, Obi-Wan thought.

_ Poor thing. _

Anakin tried to jerk his head out of the way and failed: Obi-Wan gently stroked his cheek with his hand. “Shh,” he whispered. “It will be alright, Anakin, I promise.”

“I hate you!” Anakin gasped again, but the rage in his eyes was giving way to something else.

“Shh,” Obi-Wan soothed him again. “It won’t hurt for much longer, you won’t be in pain anymore…”

Even with Maul holding him in place, Anakin was still struggling, but growing weaker by the second. “Please,” he whispered, his eyes wide with fear, “please don’t… please…”

“It will all be over soon, Anakin,” Obi-Wan murmured. “I promise.”

“Please… please no…”

But there was little he could do: he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, and his presence in the Force was growing faint.

“I don’t know why you had to kill all those younglings that way,” Obi-Wan said, keeping his voice soft. “You could have been kind, Anakin… the Dark Side doesn’t mean you can’t be kind, at least a little…” He gently kissed his pale forehead. “But I’ll show you. I’ll be kind.”

Anakin was so weak now… so fragile, even his tremendous strength in the Force couldn’t fend off Obi-Wan reaching into his mind. 

Not just his mind: his brain. This was how Obi-Wan had done it before, how he gave those Inquisitor children a painless death.

And Anakin would always be a child to him.

He could sense them: all the little blood vessels and gray matter that kept a person alive, so fragile, so easy to alter so that it would be gentle, quiet, just like falling asleep… 

“Don’t be afraid,” Obi-Wan whispered. “It won’t hurt, I promise. It will be over soon, but don’t worry, Anakin. I’ve got you. You aren’t alone… I’ve got you…”

He reached out with the Force and cut the strings.

He felt Anakin shudder, briefly, and then fall still.

His eyes were still gold, even in death, but something about them was more peaceful now.

* * *

On Coruscant, a decaying old man felt a chill as he sensed his apprentice die.

It had been so many years since he last felt threatened… but the Dark that had been his only true companion whispered to him that his own demise was coming soon.

Something had gone terribly wrong.

* * *

“Are you alright?” Obi-Wan asked as he picked himself up off of the ground.

“I’ve had worse,” Maul said with a grimace.

“I know.” He smiled, dusting the ash off of his pants. “I was there, remember?"

Maul looked down at what was left of Anakin. “I see you were still… sentimental.”

“I was being merciful.” He had felt sad, only moments ago, but could no longer remember why. Death was the obvious consequence of killing someone—what was sad about that?

“As I said: sentimental. They mean the same thing.”

Obi-Wan walked over to him and lay a hand on his cheek. “I promise to do it the same way to you when we finally kill one another,” he murmured.

Maul scoffed. “I really hope you don’t. I would hate for my death to be gentle.”

“I’ll try to remember that…” He raised an eyebrow. “Unless that time is right now?”

Maul removed Obi-Wan’s hand from his cheek and gave the tips of his fingers a quick kiss. “Not yet. You got to have your fun, now I get to have mine.”

“Having access to Darth Vader’s ships will certainly make it easier to access the Imperial Palace,” he mused, “but first, shall we go see what that ridiculous fortress contains?”

“Hopefully something worthwhile.”

He gave Maul a critical look. “Hopefully some bandages as well… your arm is a mess.”

“Your concern is nauseating, Kenobi.”

“The nausea is probably due to the blood loss.”

After a few minutes of walking, Maul looked troubled. “After we take care of Sidious, will there be anything left to do?”

“Before we die in each other’s arms, you mean?”

“Something like that.”

He had been considering that dilemma for some time now, and had only recently thought of a possible solution. “Well… what are your thoughts on children?”

Maul snorted. “They don’t make as much of a mess when they’re killed.”

He was being deliberately obtuse, Obi-Wan knew. “I meant  _ raising  _ them. There is a boy on Tatooine who is likely going to be quite bored of the place in a few years’ time. And his sister on Alderaan as well.”

“And you have somehow become even more sentimental, I see.”

“Well, think it over. It might be fun.” They had time, after all. 

“It sounds disgusting.”

Obi-Wan rested a hand on the small of his back. “Cheer up: if we train them properly, they’ll probably end up killing us both.”

“Which would be a mercy after that many years with you,” Maul said sourly; he tried to shrug the hand off, but Obi-Wan refused to budge. 

“Didn’t you just say that mercy meant the same thing as sentimentality?” he asked teasingly.

“I despise you, Kenobi.” Maul’s attempt at a furious glare was less than convincing.

Obi-Wan smiled. “I know.”


End file.
